iCan't Forget
by Domicile
Summary: “Instead of damaging both of us in teeth and bookcase collisions, the next time you want to kiss me just wake me up and I’ll adjust into a less awkward position.” Cam
1. Chapter 1

_The good old days_. Everyone has heard this phrase at one point or another in their life. Generally by middle-aged or elderly people, but every now and then you get the youth who have had a few hard years and reflected back. Its usually referring to an easier time when thoughts weren't quite so deep and day-to-day problems weren't quite so bothersome.

I never thought I would be someone to say it. But somehow, standing there in front of the aging, wooden, front door, it was the only thing I could think of. And it made me nervous. So what if we had spent most of our youth cavorting together? None of that seemed to matter now. The hard-edged truth was we had drifted apart. We went to different colleges, we made new friends. We stopped taking time out of our lives to stay in contact with each other. Every six months or so, we might remember to send an e-mail informing the other where we are in the world and perhaps go as far as to mention a job title. But I guess this was to be expected. "Best friends forever" isn't something that usually works out.

Everything always hits me at the worst possible time, and, of course, that is happening yet again. One would think I would have had these reflections on the previous night or even on the plane. Not standing at her front door with my fingers clenching my suitcases and nerves running up and down my spine. And I'm not sure whether I'm more nervous to see her after so long, or because I now have to rely on someone I don't know anymore.

In the good old days when we were young and joyful, complaining about school and running a variety show on the web, this wouldn't have been an issue. I practically lived with her then, anyway. And yet… And yet there I stood, wetting my bottom lip over and over to throw off my jitters like dogs throw off heat.

When the door finally swung open, my heart only began to race faster instead of slowing in finally seeing the unknown. She looked good, to say the least. Long, dark brown hair falling just below her shoulders. Straight and silky, as always. Her almond eyes showed a little fear on her side too, but the way her lips curved up at the corners balanced it out. She was still long and thin and looking every bit as graceful as a ballerina. Her slender frame was dressed in long grey slacks and a button up white shirt. Silver dangly earrings hung from both ears.

And of course, seeing her just brings the memories flooding back even worse than the phone conversation we had had the day before, which had been extremely awkward. I think we both like to think when we were writing e-mails that we hadn't lost quite so much. Then the phone call had made it clear just how much distance was now between us.

Even so, I set down my suitcases and let her wrap her arms around me. She smelled like pumpkin pie. I could remember all of the times she had cooked dinner or dessert and how she would save some for me always, for the few nights I wasn't around to eat it with her and her brother. Spencer had gotten married five months before Carly's seventeenth birthday. I remember how hard it had been on her. Carly the saint, always feeling in the way of the newlyweds.

When we finally separated and took a step back to study each other once more, I felt a strong urge in my cheeks to blush, something I hadn't felt since high school.

"Hi." She said, reaching around me to grab my suitcase and hustle me into the house.

"Hi." I responded, thinking the conversation probably wouldn't stretch far beyond this.

I guess the worst part is I do know her. I know her better than most people. For ten years we told each other the deepest darkest desires of our hearts. On the other hand, it's been nearly eight years since we've actually spoken to each other. And a lot can happen in eight years. Which means I don't really know adult Carly at all.

Her house is nice, which is predictable for the Carly I remember. Orderly, everything clearly had a place. A coat rack and a small table and bowl on it for keys in the foyer. The living room calm and relaxed with pale happy colors, old sculptures of Spencer's decorating a few shelves in the corner, bringing even more memories back. She set my suitcases down on the couch before turning back to me.

"So… Uhm. Welcome back to Seattle."

My first instinct after graduating high school had been to run away. I'd never known my father and my mother was a less than perfect kind of person. I can't say I didn't love her, because I did. But watching her hurt too much. So I'd used college as my chance to escape. And this was truly my first time back to the city of my birth since. Carly had stayed. She'd gone to the university of Washington and bought a house a few miles from the loft she had shared with Spencer.

"Thanks," I said in a mumbled reply, hoping to sound the slightest bit sad. But really I felt like a failure. I had planned to never come back, to never rely on someone else again. Here I was, though.

"So, uh. You have your own bedroom and bathroom. Your half of the mortgage I'll need by the thirty first. And welcome home?" She said and it hit me then that she must have felt just as strange as I had moving in with her.

"Its really good to see you." I was glad to hear my voice didn't crack and the words seemed to make her happy.

She nodded. "Its good to see you too."

"And thanks for letting me move in with you. Even though this was all really sudden…" I tried to explain, but I let it go when she started shaking her head.

"Not a problem. I'm always here for you."

Carly is a very sincere person. But even now, I'm not sure how honest these words were. She was too nice to say no, but would she always be there for me? How could she be? I had become a stranger to my best friend.

"Do you want to go get some coffee and catch up? My treat." This probably showed her just how much had changed since we were last together. Ten years ago I would never have offered to treat.

"I'd love to," she started. "But I have to go to work. I'll be home by six. We'll catch up then, okay?"

I bobbed my head. "Sure."

She showed me to my bedroom and left.

Everything was white and clean from the walls to the desk to the bedspread. I slipped my shoes off by the door and sank my bare feet into the carpet. All my previous places had been quite dirty and ridiculously small, which is normal for a cheap place in Chicago or New York City. Part of me felt like I was contaminating a crime scene or the Garden of Eden by putting my suitcases on the bed and wandering around the room. I pull the white curtains to either side of the window frame and stared out. In my youth I had come to hate this city. Maybe coming back was a good thing. Perhaps I could get over this.

I unpacked as if this were a hotel I was staying only a night or two at. Every piece of clothing I pulled out of my luggage felt heavy and filthy in such a soft, white room. I think I've probably always felt this way around Carly. She was always soft and sweet and polite. I was obnoxious and over the top with too many hard edges and flaws to count. No matter how many years I've worked at refining myself, I will never be at her level.

I stretched out on the bed after my luggage was unpacked and stashed away in my closet. It was still hard to believe I was there at all. The truth, I had been fired from my previous job. I'd had an affair with my boss. Carly knew that much. What she didn't know was my last boss was a woman. She didn't know that I had jumped on the job offer in Seattle to run away from the issues that arose from that. Only, I had forgotten how much I had left behind in Seattle that I would now have to face. Mostly, her. Because the break in our relationship was entirely my fault.

It had been Valentine's Day, freshman year of college. I had driven the five hours between my college and her university to surprise her. I had been able to convince her to skip her classes that day and have fun with me instead. And all of that was great. Then nightfall came. Snow fell evenly from the sky around us as I walked her back to campus. We laughed and joked and I went all sentimental for long enough to admit how much I missed her. When we reached my car is when I decided to mess things up.

She had just looked so beautiful standing there with her dark hair and eyes, surrounded by white. And the next thing I had known, I had my fingers curled into her parka and my tongue in her mouth. I left early the next morning.

I rolled over and inhaled the delicate scent of freshly laundered sheets. It had been extremely surprising when I had e-mailed her to say I had taken a job in Seattle and she had offered her second bedroom to me. My brain kept flashing back to that kiss so many years ago, wondering if she even remembered and if she hated me for it. Or maybe for the fact that I shoved her out of my life after.

Carly arrived back home precisely at six with a large bag of Chinese food. She sat at the dining room table with her back straight and her legs crossed. She'd pulled her hair back after she had slipped out of her shoes and called me out of my room for dinner. It made her look more like the Carly I remembered.

"How was your day?" She questioned as she pulled out little boxes of rice and noodles and different types of meats.

I shrugged, taking the plate she offered me. "Fine. I didn't do anything."

"Are you all unpacked?"

"Yeah."

"Well that's something." She could always see the positive side of things.

"How was yours?" It felt weird to talk like this. We had always had an underlying sarcastic tone or spoke in a joking manner. This was so serious and straightforward, like she was my mother. Like we had just met for a blind date. Or perhaps an old married couple accepting that things were never going to go back to the way they were when we were young.

She bobbed her head. "It was fine. I rented a movie on my home. I thought we could watch it together."

Her eyes were hopeful, which caused all of the guilt I had felt when I had abandoned her so many years ago to come rushing back. And suddenly, for the first time in my life, I wasn't hungry. I shoved my plate back and bowed my head. I could feel tears coming on and I dared them to fall.

"I'm sorry." I bit my lip, finally making eye contact with her.

"For what?" She cocked her head, curling her fingers around my wrist.

I pushed my chair back and hopped to my feet, yanking myself away from her. "Don't you remember?" I demanded of her.

"Remember what?" She got to her feet too, taking cautious steps towards me.

I felt shaky. "For abandoning you!" I yelled at her.

She froze and frowned. "Abandoning me?"

"Yes! Remember? I drove up for Valentine's Day freshman year and then I stopped returning your calls and visiting and allowing you to visit me." Now the tears were coming, streaming down my face like they filled in the gap so many years apart had put in our relationship.

She looked down, glancing towards the door. "You didn't abandon me." She said lightly.

"Yes I did!"

"No you didn't. I didn't make an effort either. You scared me that night. And I wasn't sure I wanted to see you again." She admitted with a sad smile.

The tears halted in my shock. "What?"

"I couldn't figure out what I was feeling after you kissed me. So I decided it was better to just leave it alone and focus on school and other things. I pushed you out too. But-" Her hands fell to her sides.

"But?" I prompted.

"But when you told me you were moving back, I got really excited. And I was hoping you wouldn't remember that or think about it at least and maybe I could have you back in my life. I was so nervous when I saw you this morning. But I was also really happy. Maybe we could just start over? Forget about all of that and just begin again?"

We watched the movie together. We sat on opposite sides of the couch with our legs entwined. We made snide comments about the acting and the plot and smiled politely at each other. At around eleven, we shut off the lights and shut the curtains, parting to go to bed.

I lay there for hours, wide awake. Begin again, she had said. Move on, forget about the past. But how could we start over when we had so much history?


	2. Chapter 2

I don't really remember when I started lying on such an extreme level. It probably started with little things in college like being too tired to make it to class or procrastinating so long that I missed an assignment. What would one little white lie hurt? Apparently a lot. Lies seem to have this snowball effect that makes it so you can't just tell one. Which is why I was such an honest person growing up. I didn't want to trap myself or my lies to come back at me and end up hurting someone. I guess its been a while since I've cared about it. So where did that go? Since when do I not care? Has lying turned me into this cold, uncaring person? I don't know. But I can't stop now.

I'm not sure what turned me into such a slacker either. Growing up, I was always hands on, assertive, and very much a go-getter. School assignments were always complete and turned in on time. When I was sixteen I got a job that I was never late to and always gave my all. For the four years we ran a variety show on the web, I worked unbelievably hard at coming up with great ideas and making the show interesting.

I guess all of my changes for the worst stem from losing Sam. After I let her walk out of my life is when I started these bad habits. Staying up so late every night so there was no way I could catch up on sleep. Having sex with half the guys I met just to block her out. Lying about everything I could just because I couldn't face the truth.

I was in love with Sam. I guess that's what it really came down to when I started therapy last year and the nice, wrinkly, old man asked me what I felt the root of my behaviors was. I was in love with Sam and I was so angry with her for making me realize it. It hadn't just been a kiss, but an awakening.

My therapist told me I needed to meet with her again so I could get this out of my system and move on with my life. The scary part is he told me that two days before she emailed me and told me she was moving back to Seattle. So, naturally, I jumped at that. Only I took it one step further: I offered to let her move in. It was just so trippy, how could I not want her back in my life to maybe get rid of these feelings?

Being excited to see her wasn't a lie. It was probably the only truth I told her when she showed up last week. I hadn't mentioned the agitation and the slight neurotic twitch that always comes with running into my past.

"I think I want to quit my job."

My therapist's name is Sebastian Bell. His face sags in places where it was never held up by muscle and his eyes are watery blue. He dressed in stiff brown suits and ugly ties. I liked him from the moment we met. I could talk to him without the chance of giving my heart away, unlike with Sam.

"Why's that?" He responded in that delicate but forceful tone that makes you feel stupid.

I shrugged. "I'm just bored of it. I feel like each day drags by so slowly that the earth has stopped spinning."

"What would you do instead?" He peered at me over the spotted brown line of his reading glasses.

I smiled sarcastically at him. "Sit in a chair and let people bitch and complain at me all day."

He returned my grin. "That wouldn't be boring to you?"

I laughed, short and fake. "Maybe I could write. You know, everyone I meet seems to want to write a book, but I think maybe I could actually do it. I know how to write for an audience and I can actually be funny if I don't write about me."

"Why can't you be funny about you?"

"I don't know. I had a sense of humor when I was growing up. That's what my book could be about!"

"You want to write a book about losing your sense of humor?"

"Yeah, that probably wouldn't be such a good book. Maybe quitting my job isn't such a good idea. I just need to pick up a side job. Like sculpting!" I exclaimed, almost serious.

"Sculpting?"

"Or maybe I'll raise an ant farm. And snakes! No, never mind. I'm scared of snakes. Always have been." I confided.

"Your desire to quit your job stems from hating snakes?"

"Are you going to just ask questions the whole time?" I demanded of him.

"Well, only while you continue to insist on talking about things you don't really care about and avoid talking about Ms. Puckett." His grin widened slightly, making his jowls quiver.

My jaw dropped open a little. "I'm… I'm not avoiding talking about Sam. There's just nothing to say."

"The love of your life moves back to Seattle and in with you and there's nothing to say?" His eyes squinted in his doubt.

"She's not the love of my life." I protested.

More squinted eyes.

"Well, not anymore. I haven't seen her in eight years."

"She lives with you."

"Yeah, but she isn't the same Sam I grew up with. She's changed. I don't know why, but she has." I fell back into my crunchy chair and sighed. "She's not obnoxious or very forward. She doesn't eat all the food and she avoids bacon. She started work on Monday and she doesn't complain about it or anything. She's polite and non-evasive." I bit out like it was poison.

"Those are all bad qualities that you miss. And good qualities that you are upset about?" His confusion was evident even through the haze of fallen skin.

"Its not about them being good or bad! Its about them making Sam who she is. My Sam was fun and exciting and really tried to give life her all. She had her rough patches, but I loved everything about her. Now she's kind of dull. Its like she's scared of something or lost all of her passion for life. Instead of taking over when she walks into a room, she just blends in and drifts around like she's a ghost or something. And she's gotten so skinny it scares me." I licked my lips. "How do I get Sam back?"

Dr. Bell frowned sadly at me. "You've changed to, haven't you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Well, duh. Why else would I be in therapy? I don't really hate snakes either, by the way."

"So Sam isn't the only one." He ignored my snake comment. "And yet you expected her to be the same seventeen year old that you fell in love with. Is that really fair?"

"I guess not."

Sam was napping on the couch when I got home. Her arms arched across the floor, her legs spread over the back of the couch. One shoe on, one shoe off. Her blonde hair flowed out in curls around her head. When I closed the door delicately behind me, she rolled onto her side and moaned.

I'm an idiot. I've been realizing this more and more. And I lied to my therapist. I am just as much in love with her as I was when we were eight and she tried to steal my sandwich. Yeah, thinking back, I think I've been in love with her since the very beginning.

For some idiotic reason beyond my comprehension, I walked into my house and smiled at the sight of her instead of cursing her for making me relive what I went through so many years ago. I smiled at the fact she's still capable of sleeping in those weird positions. Smiling kind of makes me feel like crying though, because I wouldn't have even thought about that if she were still Sam.

I'm still in love with her. I can feel it pounding through my veins, which doctors would tell you is blood, but they are wrong. My body wouldn't have stayed so cold for so long, even in the summer, and warmed up as soon as I opened my front door to her nervous expression if it were blood. My heart wouldn't be pulsing it to the tips of my fingers and the ends of my toes if it were only blood.

I tiptoed across the room like some kind of cat burglar so as not to wake her. The light from the foyer filtered into the living room and threw shadows in every direction. It darkened her eyelashes and made her lips look so delectable, I was kneeled on the floor next to her head before my mind could kick back into gear. I had no right to touch her, not anymore. Actually, not ever. Here I was though, on my hands and knees, brushing her hair out of her face and praying to every god ever worshipped by mankind that she wouldn't wake up. She didn't. No matter how rough my hands were splayed across her cheek or the tingle of my fingernail gliding down her cheek and down the expanse of her neck, her eyes stayed shut.

Dare I?

I dragged my thumb across her bottom lip. She had tasted like chocolate that Valentine's Day. How would she taste now? Maybe this time I would actually get the taste of Sam without the additives of food or drink. No Peppy Cola. No ham. Just Sam. Then again, stealing a kiss from someone I have spent eight years trying to shove out of my head seems just a tad counterproductive.

Screw it.

I crouched down and pressed my lips as softly as I could manage into hers. Her lips were warm and supple under mine. I let my tongue dart out just for a second to taste just inside her parted lips. My heart skipped a beat as the pure taste of Sam filled my head. I put a little more pressure into my kiss, hoping for tender, but not so much to wake her. It wasn't all that tender though because my wrist decided to give on me at that moment and I kind of fell forward into it so hard our teeth clashed.

I yanked myself back so hard I tripped over a lamp and collided with the bookshelf. Sam moaned from her position on the couch, rolling her body forward so her feet met ground and she righted herself. She rubbed at her eyes for a few moments in a childlike manner before taking notice of me.

"Carly! Oh my god! What happened?" She was crouched by my side before I could think of an excuse or even get my thoughts collected. She plopped back onto the floor, her hand rising to her mouth. "Holy shit! I feel like I was punched in the mouth."

I blushed, hoping she couldn't tell in the dim lighting. Its not like I wasn't in an awkward enough position. I had just kissed the girl who had drove me into trashing my own life eight years ago, ended up head-butting her more than kissing her, and then threw myself into the bookshelf. I almost wanted to laugh.

"What happened?" She asked me with the most innocent of expressions.

I shrugged and chuckled lightly. "Honestly? I have no idea." For some reason, I like to say honestly when I'm going to lie to people.

She laughed too, luckily. "I can't believe I fell asleep like that on the couch. I must have jarred my teeth together. But you, why did you attack the bookcase?"

I laughed too. "I didn't attack it! I'd like to believe we went after each other."

She grinned at me and I saw a hint of the Sam I had grown up with. It made my stomach clench. Her eyes lit up with humor and a passion I hadn't seen in years. She offered me her hand and hopped to her feet all by herself.

"Come on, let's get you to bed."

I let her take me to my bedroom and couldn't fight the smile that slipped onto my face when she blushed and turned around so I could dress.

"Why were you sleeping on the couch like that?" I asked as I pulled an old t-shirt over my head.

She bobbed her shoulders, still not looking at me. "Your note said you'd be home around ten so I laid down to wait for you. I guess I didn't realize just how tired I was."

"Are you not sleeping well? Is it the bed?" I dragged sweatpants up my legs and tapped her shoulder so she would turn around.

She shook her head. "The bed's fine. I just had a rough night, I guess."

"Night terrors?"

"Your sarcasm isn't appreciated." She lowered her brow at me but her lips turned up at the corner. "Night terrors are a very serious thing."

"Sure, I know."

I climbed into bed and pressed the covers down delicately with my hands. "Well then. I guess I'll go to sleep now."

"You want me to stay with you?" She offered.

"No, I think I'll be okay."

She hugged me and I held on for dear life. She smelled like shampoo and rain, which immediately became my favorite scent. Her body just fit so perfectly with mine. Could she feel my heart racing? I don't think so because she pulled back after a moment and smiled at me.

"I can't believe I just tucked you in." She giggled and I grinned at her.

"You probably shouldn't have. Now I'm going to be expecting star treatment from you every night." I winked at her.

She walked backward to the door and the light switch. "Hey, I'm here for you."

"Goodnight, Sam."

She flicked off the light but remained leaning in the doorway. Although the light was on her back and flickered heavy shadows on her face, I could tell she was still smiling. To be honest, that kind of worried me like in the olden days. A smile like that usually meant she had done something that would seriously piss off someone else or get her in a lot of trouble.

"Carly?" She said after a minute or two.

"Yeah Sam?" I let my eyes close, wanting the picture of her face to remain in my head during sleep. It is, after all, such a pretty face.

"Instead of damaging both of us in teeth and bookcase collisions, the next time you want to kiss me just wake me up and I'll adjust into a less awkward position."


	3. Chapter 3

I was still a bit shaky from my own words. For the first time in a long time, a single sentence had waged war against my better judgment and won. For better or for worse, though? Had that ridiculous thought, which I hadn't been able to confine to my mouth, ruined this new beginning with Carly?

Maybe I wanted it to, though. It isn't like things haven't been all tense, and moments haven't been stuffed with friction, up to this point. We've both been trying so hard to pretend like we are teenagers again, and the break in our relationship never happened. Like I had skipped down to the Groovy Smoothie for a quick pick-me-up before heading upstairs to film iCarly. All the while, Spencer is hanging out downstairs, creating the latest and greatest work of art while lovingly carving a ham.

But that isn't how things are. We did take our separate ways and disappear from each other's lives. I did kiss her so many years ago on Valentine's Day Freshman year, and we _did_ stop talking. Maybe that's why all of this felt so off from the beginning. We were trying to create a gap in time that neither of us possessed the power to create. And now I'm just rambling, going off over nothing. I'm not even rambling out loud! _What the hell is wrong with me?_

She said she wanted to forget about the kiss. She said it had scared her and she just wanted to start over. How can that be when she kissed me the night before? Besides the terrible pain in my gums from my teeth being forced backwards, it wasn't a bad kiss either. And sure, I hadn't let her know I was awake, but that was purely out of curiosity. She had just stood there staring at me for so long, I had been wondering what was going on in her head. And, of course, the only way to find that out was to let her do whatever she had in mind. At the time, I'll admit, I hadn't realized she would kiss me.

How could she, anyway? She's the one who had wanted to move on! She's the one who claimed she had shoved me out of her life and was hoping I wouldn't remember! What kind of screwed up thinking was she doing when she thought it was okay to kiss me?

And yet, somehow, I was so happy she did.

"Sam? Are you even listening to me?"

I jumped, startled. "What?"

It was Kelli, a coworker of mine who seemed to pass by my desk more than necessary. She had one of those sweet faces, but was actually incredibly judgmental to the core. Her eyes smiled lovingly as she jabbered on about how pissed she was at her husband for his latest misdoing. People like her kind of scare me.

"You spaced out? And that was the good part too!" She pouted for several moments as if I'd known her long enough to care.

"Sorry." I rubbed at my eyes and glanced at my watch. "Shit! Five-thirty! Why didn't you tell me?"

I hopped to my feet and yanked my coat-sleeves over my jittery limbs while she frowned disapprovingly at me. "I would have said something if I hadn't been trying to tell you about my sister's wedding shower for the last forty-five minutes without any attention from you, thank you very much!"

I smiled apologetically at her. Unlike when I was younger, I now felt the need not to burn bridges unnecessarily. "I'm sorry. I really am. I'm just tired. It was really hard for me to get to sleep last night. I promise to listen to every detail tomorrow and possibly, if you're good, provide feedback."

I checked my hair in the mirror to make sure I looked okay before I headed out. I don't know why it felt so wrong of me to be a little late coming home. Carly was never late. Maybe that's why. She was never late, so I had to be prompt too. Only that was kind of a problem since my body slouches and my eyes become slits and my brain shuts down a little whenever someone talks to me for an extended period of time without requiring a reply. Like Kelli.

Carly was in the kitchen when I arrived back, a little more than fifteen minutes later. Her eyes were focused into a steaming pot that had promising smells drifting from it.

"Hey!" She called, using a large wooden spoon to stir the contents of the pot.

"Hi." I responded, following my nose to stand by her side. "Smells delicious. Sorry I'm late."

"It's no problem." She bobbed a shoulder and offered me a smile.

In that split second that her eyes met mine, I was hurtled back into last night before she collided with the bookshelf and attempted to break my teeth. Back to when it was just a gentle kiss and the tip of her tongue tested the boundaries by entering my mouth.

"Okay." My voice was annoyingly breathless, like some kind of schoolgirl, and I quite nearly scolded myself.

She only returned to the pot. "I'm not sure the consistency is right. But I've never made Borscht before, so I don't actually know what I'm looking for."

A smile slipped onto my face before I could take action against it. "Why did you make Borscht?"

She threw a grin my way before stirring the pot again. "I don't know. I told the guy who fixed my coffee this morning that I had nothing to make for dinner."

"And?"

"And first he looked at me like I was a freak, seeing as how we'd never met before and the first thing I said to him was 'I have nothing to make for dinner.' But then he shrugged and said 'make borscht.' So I am." She sighed after her overly long explanation for what was supposed to be a short answer question.

I grinned subconsciously at her because nothing makes me happier on most nights than a rambling Carly. Only that night felt weird. You know, the kiss and everything.

I cleared my throat loudly, backing up to sit at the table. "So how was your day?"

She nodded, her finger scanning down the recipe. "Fine. Yours?"

"Fine." Could I have started a more pointless topic of conversation?

"Well, that's good." She sniffed the air. "How would you like to taste my Borscht? Just a quick little taste to make sure... The seasonings are good! Yes, the seasonings are good."

I raised my eyebrows at her. "Is there something wrong with your Borscht?"

Her eyes drifted lazily across the ceiling. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Something that you're not aware of?"

"I guess that's possible." She shrugged, biting her lip.

"You could always ditch the Borscht and order Chinese food." I suggested, trying to appeal to her taste buds.

She frowned sadly at her boiling pot of what now smelled like rotting beets. "But I worked so hard on this."

And that look with the big eyes and puffed out lower lip, I couldn't resist. Before my brain had time to send its messages, I was on my feet and back by her side.

"I'll try it if you really want me to."

She smiled hopefully at me. "Really? You'd do that?"

"Of course," I choked out, "I would. I was late and you made me dinner. If that's what you want, I'll try the uh…"

"Soup."

"Right, the soup."

She chuckled and turned off the burner. "Thanks, but that's okay. Really. I won't force my soup on you."

"You couldn't force it on me if I wasn't a willing participant, trust me. Sometimes, I can be just downright stubborn."

Our eyes met then and somehow we'd backed away from the stove and over to the wall. She kept looking down at my lips and I only knew that because suddenly we were so close our eyelashes were mingling and for some reason I took notice of that.

"Sam…" Her voice was small and I wasn't entirely sure she had said anything at all.

I was going to respond too, I really was, but her chin tipped up and suddenly our lips were touching, and thoughts could no longer form in my head or control my actions. Her arms curled around my waist and lugged me closer until only Quantum Physics would try and say we weren't touching. I could feel every stiffened muscle and jagged breath. Her tongue met mine somewhere near my left canine and I was lost to her taste.

So many thoughts flooded my head like the short break from reality had caused some kind of traffic jam. My head went from Kelli and her marital problems to the Borscht to Carly's tongue and all the way back to that Christmas Eve ten years ago when I had thought Carly might kiss me under the mistletoe, even though she hadn't, and that had spurred my need to find out if she would kiss me back. Only now her fingers had found their way up under my shirt and my own hands were well on their way to having her pants unbuttoned.

I've felt like I needed people before, that passionate, purely physical, need, but this is so much more intense and focused and I can't control my body with the most basic of commands. Take your hand out of her jeans, I told myself over and over only to find my hand dip further in and this incredible sound escaped from her lips. Her left hand left my shirt and slid up my neck to pull my lips back to her. The trail it took tingled. But I needed that sound again, so I let her taste fill my mouth once more and inched my hand further in.

"Carly! You home?"

Either her knees collapsed or mine did because suddenly we were a tangled jumble on the floor with hands still in compromising places and lips still touching. I wanted to laugh or scream or something angrily, or maybe a little neurotically, at the door for interrupting that moment because we both recognized the voice.

"Freddie?" Carly's voice was thick and raspy with need and lust, but she pulled my hand from her jeans, used the wall for support, and climbed to her feet.

"Carly?" He questioned again as if it was actually Morgan Freeman's voice drifting out to him.

"Yeah, um, just a minute." She re-buttoned her pants and straightened her clothes before helping me with mine.

When Carly finally yanked open the door, Freddie stared at me with a mix of horror and wonder. It kind of resembles the expression of a kid watching a frog bubble in the sun.

I hadn't seen him since iCarly ended, that last summer before college. He looked good, you know, for a guy. His hair was short and neat; he dressed the same as when his mom picked out his clothes. The only new thing was a single gold band on his left ring finger.

"Hi." I greeted. I do that now. I'm a salutations-giver.

"Sam?" He muttered as if I had had years of facial reconstruction and he was just now seeing the end product.

"Yeah." I nodded. Then I threw "Hi," out there again in hopes he might return it and we could move on.

But he only stepped uneasily into Carly's house, staring at me cautiously. "Is she armed?" He asked Carly from the side of his mouth.

"No," She responded, holding the door open for him.

"How positive are you?"

"I think its safe to say that she isn't hiding anything underneath her clothes." And she would know.

"What is she doing here?" He finally straightened up, glancing back and forth between Carly and me.

"She's living with me. Didn't I tell you?" Carly smiled politely, clicking the door back into place.

"Um, let me think. No!"

"Okay. Sam is living with me." She stated calmly.

"Why are you freaking out over this?" I finally asked, giving him the weirdest expression I could muster.

His muscles finally relaxed and he shrugged. "I don't know. You and Carly haven't seen each other in years. I just kind of figured you did something terrible to her."

"Like I would ever hurt Carly." The words left my mouth and my body language snapped back to the old before I could stop it.

Freddie studied me critically. "Oh really? Than why do you guys look like you've been wrestling?"

"We weren't." Carly and I had a silent fight with our eyes to make a decision on how to handle this.

"I was trying to make her eat borscht." Carly jumped in.

Freddie laughed. "Of course you were."

We trailed after him into the living room.

He grinned at us after plopping down on the couch. "It would have to be that. Or you guys were making out in the foyer. But that would never happen."


	4. Chapter 4

"So, let me get this straight. You like might have made out with Sam in the foyer, but it's like not a big deal."

I grinned at him, but only because an older man with a baritone voice trying to speak like a valley girl is incredibly amusing. "Something like that."

Dr. Bell studied me with a small smirk on his face. "And this is the same woman that you are no longer in love with?"

I frowned at him. "You got a point, punk?"

"Punk?" He repeated. "No, no point. I'm just making connections."

"Right… well, than Freddie showed up and everything was ruined." I said, moving right along with my story.

"Freddie?"

"I told you about him. He was the technical producer for iCarly? He finally got over being in love with me a couple years ago and got married?" I explained in question form.

"Right." Dr. Bell nodded in that therapist way that always makes me want to roll my eyes.

"Well, I forgot he was coming over that night. My whole schedule has kind of been thrown out the window since Sam moved in. But Freddie always comes over once a month so we can catch up and stay involved in each other's lives." I got bored with speaking, so I licked my lips and looked out the window. Rain was just beginning to fall.

"So he walked in on the two of you?" Bell encouraged.

"What? No." I gave him a look that clearly said 'you dirty old man, you.' "He knocked on the door and startled us back into reality."

"So what's the problem?"

"What?"

"You said there was a problem when you walked in. I didn't even have to coerce you into talking this time."

"Oh, right. He kind of guessed that we were… in a compromising position when he'd knocked."

"He guessed?"

"He was just kidding. And Sam and I laughed it off so he doesn't know."

"Okay. So where's the problem?"

"I'm getting to it!" I snapped. "I haven't talked to Sam at all since."

"What?" His eyes widened in surprise. "This is such a huge problem! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be seeking someone higher up?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Sarcasm isn't an attractive quality in a therapist."

"Right." He says that a lot. "You've been avoiding Sam?"

"Not on purpose! Well, not entirely. It just worked out that Freddie didn't leave until late last night, I went right to bed after he left, and I missed her on my way to work this morning." I defended, snuggling back into the dark green couch I was stretched across.

"I'm going to suggest something that I never suggest and I should probably have my license taken away for suggesting." Bell said in an ominous voice.

"Yay, bad stuff. This is exciting, isn't it? What shall I do?"

He ignored my ghoulish voice. "I think you should continue your physical relationship with Sam."

"What?!"

"Normally I wouldn't suggest sex as a solution to almost anything, but it seems to be an area where you meet eye to eye. Eight years ago, both of you walked away feeling scared and unsure about what you were feeling. Having the physical relationship now means one, you get to find out what you didn't eight years ago, and two, you get to work through some of those issues without actually talking." He took a swig from a water bottle before fixating his watery eyes on me.

"Let me get this straight. You want me to like sleep with Sam, which like seems like it would make our relationship like more complicated, because it will somehow like fix everything?" I said in my valley girl voice, which is a lot better than his if you consider the factors. Or maybe his is better?

He shrugged. "Something like that. Experience what you've denied yourselves and each other. It breaks down a lot of walls. At least, I think it will."

"That is the worst advice you've ever given me!" I exclaimed.

"Yes."

"I'll take it!"

Things were remarkably relaxing when the band was finally back together. Sam and Freddie had even managed to be nice to each other. But Sam seems to be nice to everyone now. Its like the last eight years have made her scared of fault. And Freddie definitely took notice of that. He looked like he wanted to drag me off to the bathroom and whisper about her all night, but instead said he'd call me later and we'd talk. Sam wasn't surprised by his reaction. I wonder why that is…?

I'm always glad to go see my therapist and get things out of my head, but sometimes going brings up more questions than answers. And strange advice from a middle-aged man.

Goal for tonight: fuck Sam.

What kind of therapist gives that kind of direction?

I felt incredibly indecisive, anyway, so how could I make a huge decision like that? Although, I seem to keep attacking her with my mouth and there isn't really a thought process behind that. Or maybe its my only thought process. She seems to be the only thing on my brain lately. And that kind of scares me. Generally, I let my focus drift around like a child wandering a new place, even though I've lived here my whole life, and that seems to work for me. Focusing on Sam? No. Bad. Wrong. Shouldn't be happening. But it is. And I can't stop. I look at her and suddenly I'm a teenager again and it's Christmas Eve and I'm thinking about kissing her but I don't. Only now, all those feelings are making me act when I shouldn't be.

She was sitting on the floor in the foyer with her legs hugged tightly to her chest when I arrived home. Her eyes were glued to her fingertips and her lips were white from being pressed together harshly for an extended period of time.

"Hi," I mumbled, slipping off my coat and setting my keys down.

"Hey," She responded, her lips stretching out to form the word completely.

"What you doing in here?" I asked, sliding down the wall to sit next to her.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I feel like we should talk, but I don't know what to say."

"Sam…"

"I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't know what we're doing!" She exploded, startling me, and suddenly she was on her feet, throwing her arms up in confusion.

I nodded, my heartbeat speeding up. "Well…"

But she didn't seem to be in the mood to let me speak, and raced on. "One moment, you are telling me things should go back to normal and let's forget about the kiss! But what do you do then? The last thing you should be doing!"

"I can stop kissing you." I felt strangely numb at my own words. For some reason, it felt less natural and took more effort not to kiss her than to keep going.

"That's the problem!" She yelled at the ceiling. "I don't want you to!"

I watched her in awe as she stormed into the living and dropped down onto the couch. "What?"

"I don't want you to stop." She muttered.

My arms were shaky as I scaled the wall to get back to my feet and trailed over to the couch. "So what's the problem?"

"That _is _the problem."

I leaned back into the armrest so I could face her. "I see."

She chuckled softly; a girlish giggling that seriously surprised me. I mean, Sam? Giggling? Come on. "You always did keep my life interesting. I don't know why I'm so surprised."

"What?" I responded, shocked. "I'm the one that brought your life back to earth. Without me, you were stealing from people and vandalizing and breaking into places and who knows what else!"

She chuckled again at my outburst. "Those were just to fill the time when I wasn't with you. You were my world growing up."

She looked at me then, her eyes filled with honesty and innocence. I tried several times to say something back, but I just blinked at her while my mouth opened and closed. "What?"

"You already knew you were." She rolled her eyes, the color dulling back to what it has been lately. "What kind of life did I have aside from you? Failing out of school, breaking the law, and what? My mom wasn't all there and I haven't seen my dad in twenty years."

I turned in my seat so I could lay back with my head in her lap. "It only seems like that because I showed up right after your dad left."

She shook her head. "Nope. He wasn't around much anyway. You showing up just proved to me that there are truly beautiful people in this world. That's why I wanted to spend all of my time with you."

I blushed, something I haven't done in years. When did Sam become so honest? "I am _not_ a beautiful person. Trust me."

"The Carly I know is." She muttered, staring down at me.

She kissed me then, her lips warm and supple against mine. I realized, shortly after, that it was the first time she had been the one to kiss me since college. And that was a good feeling. The kiss was short though, ending abruptly only moments later.

I sat up, sighing. "I'm not that Carly anymore."

"I know." She shrugged. "I don't expect you to be. But it doesn't make me want you any less."

I don't remember turning around or getting up, or using my muscles at all, but suddenly I was sitting on her lap with my tongue in her mouth. And I couldn't even feel bad about it. I have a lot of regrets in my life, but for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to regret this. Somehow, the kiss felt like a lie. It wasn't like I was actually lying, but I might as well have been. She'd been sweet and honest and what was I doing? Following my therapist's advice. Finding out what I didn't eight years ago. I could've stopped. Could've told her it wasn't right and I couldn't do this to her.

But I didn't.

I kissed her with all the passion I had, and considering I've been pining after her a good portion of my life, it was quite a bit. I knew I was trying to pour the truth into her through my tongue and lips and I was hoping she got the message. Wait, that's a lie too. I needed to know. I needed to feel her, to be with her, to discover. And she was letting me. Telling her the honest to god truth now would just ruin this. Let's face it, the truth it overrated.

Her fingers burned the skin of my back as they slid up under my shirt. The ridiculous thing about it is all I could think about was how there are so many nerve-endings in your fingers and that's why paper-cuts hurt so much.

My eyes were open and that was weird because normally I'm a closed-eyes kisser. But with her, I needed to see her expression and feel what she was feeling and experience it all. Her long eyelashes were curled up at the ends and just a shade or two darker than her hair. Her fair skin was flushed.

I traced a path down her neck with my lips, stopping to nip at the pulse in her neck and the sharp edge of her collarbone. She smelled like shampoo and some perfume that I couldn't place. Since when does she wear perfume? It didn't matter. Before that thought could even finish forming, I had the top buttons of her shirt undone. She was still long and lanky, but now with some feminine curves that were swelling things low in my abdomen. My hands were everywhere, needing to feel everything and touch and taste and try and just _experience_. My freaking therapist was right, and I will never admit that to him, fucking Sam was exactly what should be on the agenda.

Just when I was about to unhook her bra and reveal a bit more for my hungry eyes, her fingers closed around my wrists to stop me.

"Well?" I had meant to say what's up, or what's wrong, but my head wasn't working properly… maybe it never really is.

"I just wanted to stop you before I forget, Spencer called." She informed.

Really? REALLY?! She was stopping me to talk about missed phone calls? "Great." I mumbled, bending to kiss her, but once again, halted.

"He wanted to make sure we were still coming for dinner tomorrow." She nibbled her bottom lip as she waited for me to respond, but all I wanted to do was replace her teeth with mine.

"Yeah, sure. Of course." I said hurriedly.

"You never told me we were having dinner with Spencer."

I rolled my eyes, remembering why I don't usually go for girls. They like to talk about 'important stuff.' "Oh. Sorry. We're having dinner with Spencer tomorrow night." Honestly, I had forgotten it as soon as I had recorded it in my cell phone.

"I haven't seen him in so long."

"He still looks the same."

"So? That doesn't make him the same person! He's married with children now."

I nodded. "Yeah, he's a real great dad, too."

"Wait," She stopped me for the zillionth time from kissing her.

"What?!"

"I'm just trying to communicate with you for a minute."

"We are communicating."

"With words."

"I don't mind if you talk dirty to me." I flashed her my brightest smile.

She grinned back. "Different kind of words."

"Well maybe you should switch."

She laughed, finally letting me kiss her again.

"See? Communicating through body language is _so_ much better."


End file.
